


"Don't Ask, Don't Tell" || Captain Marvel x Valkyrie

by p0lar0idcam



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 90s, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie Tops, Carol is a desperate gay, Carol said gay rights, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Drunk Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Even Nick Fury's kids will call him Fury, F/F, Maria Rambeau is a protective friend, Maria is a good friend, Military Homophobia, Minor Nick Fury - Freeform, Minor Peggy Carter, Minor Thor Odison, Minor Tony Stark - Freeform, Monica Rambeau knows all, Nick Fury Knows All, Peggy Carter knows all, Thor (2011) - Freeform, Thor is the Protector of Lesbians, Thor said Gay Rights, james is a good friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0lar0idcam/pseuds/p0lar0idcam
Summary: Love is beautiful,until it's not.





	1. Prologue

Love is a beautiful thing; it holds your hand, as if it is a working mother, and drags you towards freedom. It lives in the body of another and kisses you straight on the lips with the glory of one thousand stars. You feel rich with it an incomplete without it, but you forget to cherish it while it lasts. But as your body is opened up for another, you don't think of these pure things: you're too busy feeling to long for something you're holding. 

Tongues clash and fingers intertwine during these times: for some, at least.

Sometimes it's hesitant smiles and forced secrecy. A ring on your middle finger that, to you, signifies where you belong, but to the unstudious eye it signifies nothing. Forcing yourself and your partner(s) to admit to false friendships and being plagued with worry every time you hug anyone of the same sex in public, for your love is a death sentence instead of a beautiful bond.

This love, the violent and scared one, is the love we will be discussing today. This love, equally beautiful but described as hideous, is the strongest one of all, for it is this love that is less destined to fall.

So, I invite you to sit back with your cigarette and wine glass. I invite you to relax, with an open heart and the fearlessness of one thousand Spartan warriors, and read.

May God be with you, even if He is not with me.

(Spotify playlist coming soon)


	2. A Drink

Liquor tastes different when you have to keep a secret. However, even with this newly founded taste, I allowed Maria to take me out in celebration of both of us making it into the Air Force after many years of hard work. (Of course, we called over the baby sitter first for Monica, considering she was still a baby.)

That was my first mistake, the second was looking towards the jukebox.

The most beautiful woman I had ever seen stood there. Her long, dark hair was french braided, and the tank top she was wearing revealed the most muscular shoulder blades I have ever seen. Before I could comprehend these things fully, though, my drunken body guided me over to her.

"What the 4-1-1?" I leaned onto the juke, my red shirt changing form and becoming tightened near the top.

"See that girl over at the bar?" The lady said, her voice sounding like she just had a cigarette a couple of hours ago. I looked over, and then back, and nodded.

"She just had a baby with the guy in plaid shooting pool, but you didn't hear that from me." The woman winked, and I rolled my eyes lightly. During this roll, we both noticed the matching rings we wore on the assigned finger.

"You can just say you don't like me. It's a lot easier than lying." I told her, but she just smirked.

"I was about to ask if you wanted to make one too." I blushed.

And that's the short story of how I ended up in a pretty stranger's bed, wearing her clothes, and questioning all my life choices up to this point. Maria is, undoubtedly, going to kill me when I get home.

At least she knows necromancy, I guess.

Now, I'm wearing the woman's dress shirt, which is way too short on me, and trying to ignore the strong smell of pancakes coming through the vents from downstairs. I'm also trying to ignore the ache in my thighs, but we'll just move on from that before I dwell on it too much.

After a great amount of courage is stirred in me, I open my eyes to a not-as-pounding-as-I-thought-it-was-going-to-be-but-ouchie headache and search for some sort of clock to allow me the pleasure of knowing the time. After finding the object of my desire, a black box with red letters on, what I assumed to be, the woman's nightstand opposite of me on the left side, I groaned at the sight of 7:25 AM.

My groans must have alerted the other party that I've been sleeping with because, at that precise moment, a low chuckle comes from the kitchen. It's a hot laugh, I will admit, but I will not admit that it's hot enough to make a blush apparent on my face. No sir, I won't do such embarrassing things.

"Rise and shine, boo. I've got pancakes, coffee, a couple of painkillers, and a kiss with your name on it, if you want it." The woman calls up, and I roll over, stretch, and smile before forcing myself out of bed.

There are clothes absolutely everywhere, so it's no mystery what we've been doing all night. I carelessly wade through it, kicking a few shirts here and a few pants there; I'm just glad that I didn't get blackout drunk last night, is all. Wouldn't have had any memories to leave with, and I like to remember things.

"You're looking fresh for someone who basically just ran a marathon." I say as I rub my eyes, using the stairway railing for support as I exit the staircase and enter the kitchen.

"And you're looking fly even though it looks like you just got ran over a train, baby. I don't know how you do it, but you're gonna have to lend me a secret or two." She simply replies, sliding me the plate of pancakes, the coffee cup, and giving me a quick peck on the nose as I take a seat at her simple wooden breakfast table. If either of us blushed as she pulled away, we don't acknowledge it. For, if we don't question what happened, we don't have to share our similar desires.

After a long breakfast filled with lighthearted conversation, I learn her name is Brunnhilde Parrington and I get her email and phone number, so we can chat it up some more. I like this one, and wouldn't be mad about getting jiggy with her some other time. Then we both head upstairs to change into some presentable clothing for leaving the house without arising any suspicion. We kiss a few times between the fabric, but it doesn't lead to anything too heated.

She drives me home on her deep blue 1994 Ducati Monster, which she calls Aragorn. It's hot-- I'm not going to lie-- but not as hot as the veins that were busting out of Maria's head when I walk through the front door.

"Don't think you're off the heezy just yet, B!" Maria calls to me in a hush yet firm voice (considering that Monica was asleep), and I hold my right temple quickly at the sheer force of her voice.

"Some peace and quiet until I lose this headache please, Maria. Give me two hours and a solid nap and I'll be all business for you to lecture." I promise her before stepping into my room, remove my clothes, and slip under the covers.

And if I dreamed of Brunnhilde as the knight and myself as the damsel, I didn't say anything 'cause nobody asked.


	3. A Family

There is no sound that is both as loud and as quiet as high heels on hardwood floor. It echoes sheer power, yet the echoes seem too loud in the almost empty room. It strikes both fear and a strange arousion.

For me, though, it was mostly fear. Maria was going to kill me, and my final 2 hours were almost up. With every slow, deliberate step, the light at the end got a little bit darker. I knew that I was dying, but I also feared that what the wolves on the sides of the streets scream would become true.

I almost died from shock when she walked in with a plate of eggs, bacon, two advils, and a black coffee with no sign of anger. (To be fair, the coffee WAS black and I'm more of a twelve pounds of sugar type of person.)

"What'd you do with her?" Maria breaks the silence. She's got greace on her left cheek; this let's me know that she's stressed. She only works messily when she's stressed, and I'm almost certain I am the source of such stress.

"The real question is what didn't I do?" I jokingly say, but Maria just looks at me in fear with a sigh. "She's nice. Nobody suspected anything. I swear."

"Are you going to see her again?" She's genuinely curious, and I'm genuinely worried that she's going to become my father when I invite Brunnhilde over again.

"That's the plan." I'm honest with her, and the relaxation in her posture shows that she knows and appreciates it.

"What her name?" She asks, becoming my best friend again as she steals a piece of bacon off of my plate.

"Brunnhilde Parrington. She's a marine, so she knows." And that's how the conversation goes-- me fawning over my newfound love and Maria listening patiently.

It was like we were kids again, waiting to join the Air Force the moment we saw the Thunderbirds take off. We were just two girls talking in a bed: laughing and listening and talking in rhythms unbeknownst to both boys and men.

"Auntie Carol?" Monica sounded even younger when she was tired; her little padded feet made way into my room. "Are you home?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant Trouble," my lips twitch into a smile as the young child skips in. "Is the sun still shining?"

"Auntie Carol!" She flings herself into my arms as I pick her up and spin her around. She's light as a feather, but giggles like she's a hyena. 

So, as Monica and Maria sit on my bed, I tell them both about my newest love. Monica is more interested than I am, and is ecstatic at the fact that she might be getting two Aunties. 

Needless to say that I only ate half of what was on my plate and left with the lighthearted need to warn my newest love about a rambunctious child who was just waiting to smother her with hugs.


	4. Law & Order

There is a sort of static that a radio gives off that unlocks a piece inside of you that you didn't know you had before. It gives you life, but it also shows you death.

A radio's static rarely means anything good, but we still turn it on and sit by it, waiting for the voice of the hour to describe something tragic in a medidollic tone. It's as if Morgan Freeman is telling you that your entire family died tragically in a car accident. It doesn't sit right in your stomach, but you're so immersed in his tone of voice and the way he excutes the sentence, that you don't realize that your family died in a car accident. It was surreal.

So, in 1994, when the government passed the DADT, which was later lengthened to "don't ask, don't tell, don't pursue, don't harass," nobody batted an eyelash. Nobody even cared until 2011, 4 years before gay marriage was legalized by the Supreme Court. Nobody seemed to care, though, as Bill Clinton's voiced filled their cars and homes with the sound of his voice. It was black and it was blue, but it was viewed through a patriotic lens. I wasn't alive during the height of these times, but I still watch the affects of it on our military men and women.

Truly, this law said it was okay to be gay as long as you didn't act gay-- men with women, women with men, masculinity and femininity in its most rightful places. All that the Senate decided was what the forefathers of our country decided-- we'll have somebody else deal with the problem of slavery/homophobia. They were lazy (still are, if I'm completely honest.)

This law will not be put into history books: it's shameful.

This law will not be discussed much outside of this book: it's forgetful.

There is no record of protests against this law. There is no record on how many lgbt men and women were killed on the battlefield, for nobody was allowed to know they were gay; I guess it is a more honorable death, though. Just a bullet to the face instead of being rolled up and inflamed.

But with every law, we find order. They were civilized in the waltz they did to destroy and disband those who were outfully gay. Stacks of paper filled with words that hurt more than bullets and knives ever could; they were bombs of letters, waiting to be opened and armed before firing towards the accused and the accused's family, friends, and familiar faces. Lovers posed as friends, and as long as nobody knew they were making out in the bedroom, nothing was said.

"May god be with you." Politicians said to the millions of men and women who were dying for them, but there was no reply: all tongues had been cut out long ago.


End file.
